


Love Me Do

by juniperberry



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Jossed, M/M, Prompt Fill, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28163253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniperberry/pseuds/juniperberry
Summary: A fill for a prompt on the Grimm Kinkmeme, circa 2011-2012. "Renard/Nick: Reincarnation--Nick and Renard were together in a previous life but Nick died/was killed (maybe by a Grimm because he was a creature in that life, or by a Grimm creature because he was a Grimm) and Renard has been waiting for Nick to return to him (because IDK maybe Renard, whatever he is, has a very long life to life). Cue his surprise when Nick ends up working for him as one of his detectives?"
Relationships: Nick Burkhardt/Sean Renard
Comments: 10
Kudos: 52





	Love Me Do

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in about a week in early 2012. At the time I think I'd seen all of eight episodes of Grimm, and to this day that's...yeah, that's about all I've seen. As such, this fic was working on ideas and guesses and premises that have undoubtedly since been jossed by canon, so take it as an AU and enjoy it for what it is.
> 
> I use a lot of European words throughout--mostly Hungarian and some Romanian. Google Translate did not refresh my memory for everything, and I'm pretty sure the one bit of non-canon German is in relation to legal royalty fees, rather than actual royalty, but I'm not terribly interested in digging around and fixing it. Kids, this is why Google Translate is not your friend.
> 
> This is an abandoned fic, as I have little interest in catching up with the canon after all this time, but this story is still one I'm actually pretty proud of, even if I didn't finish it. I hope someone can still enjoy it all these years later, unfinished though it is.

Everything in life is recycled. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; one person's corpse becomes a haven for insects, bacteria, carbon, nitrogen, and other organic material to feed the plants that root in the earth. A fallen log in a forest hosts fungi, insects, parasitic plants; and so death gives birth to life.

Sean Renard watched his newest detective sort out his desk, and pondered on the idea that souls must do the same thing.

Nick Burkhardt was painfully, horrifyingly familiar--his eyes, his hands, the way his mouth quirked when Griffen said something that was amusing but not especially funny. Sean watched his newest detective, in between filling out his own reports and going over paperwork, and felt his heart constrict tightly in his chest.

He'd been waiting, of course, for Nicolai to circle around the wheel again, but it had been nearly fifty years since the last time--and Nicolai was such a stubborn bastard, and Burkhardt was so like and so unlike--

Life, Sean reflected not for the first time, took an enormous delight in not being fair.

~~~

London's streets were populated, even so late on such a damp night; Sean leaned his head back and felt the cool, moist air slide over him with a sort of meditative calm. From a nearby record shop, a guitar-based band crooned out onto the streets--a new group, playing rock and roll. Sean liked them well enough to hum along to "I Saw Her Standing There."

"Not bad," an accented voice whispered in his ear. He caught Nicolai in a tight grip, half an embrace, and bared his teeth in what was only marginally a smile.

"It's a bit late for little Grimms to be out of bed," he said. Nicolai grinned up at him, impudent and mocking.

"It's a bit late for--what's the English word?--wankers to be out of bed," he said, his accent slight but noticeable. Nicolai had never given a surname, and his accent could have been Germanic, Slavic, or Russian; he was good at mimicking any of them, the little shit. 

"What do you want, this late?" Sean asked, even as he led Nicolai away from the crowds, down a quieter street. "Surely you're not hunting in my brother's territory?"

Nicolai wiggled against his grip. "His Lordship said I could kill any creatures that broke his law," he said smartly. "But no, not hunting." His grin was a slash of light against the growing dark, as the streetlamps came more rarely. "I came to warn you about the Ziegevolk on Nottingham Road. It looks like he's...what's the word...setting up a harem?"

"He's breeding," Sean said, annoyed. Out of all the many creatures out there, he had to admit a dislike for Ziegevolk. "Are you doing anything about it?"

Nicolai smiled at him, guileless. "I was thinking we could do something, maybe?" he said. "Since you scold me so much about rushing head on into the wall."

Sean rolled his eyes. Nicolai liked playing with fire, even when he didn't realize what he was doing. "Why would I help you?"

Nicolai wiggled free and began to walk backwards down the pavement, his hair damp from the rain and his hands shoved deep in his pockets. "Because you like me better than that old man who is your brother's Grimm," he said. "And I only kill when needed, not for fun." He stopped and let Sean step closer, until they were nearly chest to chest. Nicolai looked up and gave Sean a small, warm smile.

"Also, I think, you like me," he said, quietly, although there were no other people around, and the only signs of life were lights behind curtains and the rumbles of autos trundling down the street.

"You already said that," Sean said, patiently. Nicolai smiled wider.

"I said you liked me better than the old man, that's professional," he said. "This, I think, is liking in a different way, hmm?"

Sean thought back over his previous observations, and decided on a change. Nicolai wasn't just a little shit, he was a smug, _observant_ little shit. Sean knew he hadn't been obvious at all, and yet Nicolai had picked up on something....

"You think highly of yourself, Nicolai," he said, and brushed past the Grimm at a steady pace. 

"You know," Nicolai said, as he trotted to catch up, "I've been doing lots of reading. You know, most Grimms, they don't even ask what you monarch-types are. You're obviously creature, but more human than most creatures. And of course, most Grimms are silly and don't want to ask the nice creatures about you. I tried asking a bauerschwein, but he pissed himself and ran away. Like I would kill him! If I want pork I go to a butcher."

Sean smiled slightly. "To a bauerschwein, you _are_ a butcher," he said, and Nicolai huffed a sigh in irritation.

"So many Grimms have given us all a lousy reputation," he said. "I've only been on the job, what, six months? And still the little prey creatures think I'm interested in them. Stupid, waste of time." He whirled and pointed a finger at Sean. "And a lot of them, they're in this beatniky sort of scene, you know? They smoke so much hash, they see me and lose their lunch out of fright."

Sean's lips twitched as he restrained a smile. "How odd," he said. The street forked, and he turned left, towards Nottingham Road. Nicolai apparently knew the lay of the land and followed without complaint.

"So," he said, "when are you going to find a throne of your own, hmm? Then I can petition to be your official Grimm, instead of wandering in and stepping on feet all over the place."

Sean withheld a snort through sheer willpower. "Who says I would want a Grimm?" he asked. "There are always a fair number of hexenbiests around, all I need do is win their loyalty."

Nicolai was silent a moment, disgruntled. "But hexenbiests, they demand such a high price for loyalty," he said, and while his voice was attempting to wheedle, it came out more wistful than persuasive. "Me, I already like you. You don't have your head up your ass like the king in Prague. And humans are important to you, too, not just as creature fodder."

"Badmouthing my relatives to make me more amenable? Strange tactic," Sean said, and Nicolai gave him a dirty look.

"Truth hurts," was all he said in response, but it made Sean smile.

~~~

The more he got to know Nick Burkhardt, the more convinced Sean became of who the detective used to be. It was in the little things--the way his mouth fell into a line when he concentrated, the motion of his hands when discussing things with his partner, the line between his brows that would form when he was angry about something and determined not to show it. There were a thousand tells, a thousand spies that Sean had thought he'd forgotten, and yet here they were, wrapped in a shape he had known, a shape he had wanted to know, a shape he had thought lost and gone and not to be seen again.

When he had convinced himself of the reality--of a soul he knew in a body he didn't--he went home after work and got quietly, thoroughly drunk.

When he realized Burkhardt had a pretty, sweet fiancé, he asked Adalind over for an evening, so that he wouldn't do anything foolish. She disapproved on principle, and she had a good head on her shoulders; she had sense, and she had talked him out of more foolish decisions than he could count.

When Marie Kessler arrived and Sean realized Burkhardt was her nephew, he wished there was something he could do--besides drinking--to numb himself to the whole situation, because Marie Kessler was a legend, was a dangerous, lethal thing, who not only carried on the reputation of the Grimms of old, but had given it a new and shiny immediacy.

And Nick Burkhardt--newest detective in his department, amazingly observant, who smelled just like Nicolai had after a rain, completely oblivious to any interest from his captain--Nick Burkhardt was the newest Grimm in the line, with hardly a clue as to what any of it meant.

Alcohol was simply not enough to make him forget, and he could not in good conscience allow himself anything else, even as he gave Adalind orders to assassinate Marie Kessler.

~~~

 _Rubber Soul_ was spinning on his record player the first time Nicolai appeared at his flat. Sean opened the door and just stared for a long moment.

"Nicolai," he said at last. "What brings you here so late?"

"I had a few questions, and I couldn't find you at the usual places," Nicolai said. He took a step closer, but hesitated when Sean didn't move. "May I come in?"

"That wouldn't be a good idea," Sean said. He enjoyed flirting with Nicolai, especially since he would never name it as such; anything more than that and things would go down a road he was sure Nicolai didn't want.

"Why? Are you dining on children's livers?" Nicolai's half-smile belied his words. "Come on, Renard. Let me in, it's cold out here."

It really wasn't, and Nicolai's coat could keep him warm. "No," Sean said. "What do you need to know?"

"Grimm questions," Nicolai said. "I guess if you want to talk about the habits of certain unsavory creatures, we could do it here, but I get loud when I get excited by something."

Sean knew that was an outright lie, but Nicolai just smiled quietly at him. Smug little shit. 

"All right," he said, and held the door open. "But once your questions are done, you will leave."

"It's like you don't like me," Nicolai said, and suddenly he was far, far too close, and his hair smelled like rain.

"Nicolai," Sean said, "you're playing a very dangerous game."

Nicolai blinked at him, honestly perplexed. "You sound like you would hurt me," he said. One hand reached out and ran down Sean's shirt-sleeve, down to his wrist. "I don't believe you would."

"You'd be mistaken. Ask what you want and get out."

Nicolai stepped back and asked his questions, technical ones. They were obscure--he'd been on the job three years or so, there wasn't much his books or another Grimm couldn't tell him. Sean gave him his answers and then pointedly opened the door.

Nicolai glanced around, uncertain. "Sean," he said, quietly. "I don't understand. We've--"

"We've done things I shouldn't have allowed," Sean said. "If we do anything else, there will be consequences."

Nicolai crossed his arms and glared. "If there were more information on monarchs, you wouldn't need to be so round-about," he said. "I don't understand."

Sean sighed. "I'll--I'll tell you about it later, Nicolai," he said, and something in his voice apparently convinced the Grimm where his words did not.

"Fine," Nicolai said. He dug a slip of paper out of one his pockets. "Here. Meet me there tomorrow night around seven or so, that should be the right time."

"Of course," Sean said, and he gently shut the door in Nicolai's face. On the stereo, "In My Life" began, with the sweet refrain Sean was coming to identify with a little too much. 

“In my life, I'll love you more,” sang John and Paul, and Sean turned off the record player.

~&~

When the reaper came to town looking for Marie Kessler--or, barring that, the killer of his brother--Sean found it difficult, at first, to keep his temper. Self-control was one of the things he was best at; protection, of individuals and groups and cities and territories, those were all fed by his self-control.

Adalind had noticed his preoccupation, and after work one night he found her sitting in the shadows on his front porch.

"My lord," she said, with a nod of her head. "May we speak?"

"If it's short," he said, as he opened his door. "I have an appointment later. I need to prepare for it."

Adalind shut the door behind them. "This has to do with that Grimm, doesn't it, sir?"

Sean dropped his briefcase on the couch and shed his coat. "Perhaps."

Adalind frowned. "I don't like him."

"You don't like him because he doesn't like you," Sean answered. "Besides, it's my fault he gave you so much trouble last time. I shouldn't have sent you personally to kill Kessler."

"I was happy to do it," Adalind argued. "Sir, if I may be blunt?"

He paused and glanced at her. "Of course."

Adalind studied her shoes. "Why are you so protective of this Grimm, my lord? You had Kessler killed, and Miyamoto when he came through three years ago. Grimms know they're not welcome here. Why are you protecting this one?"

Sean loosened his tie and turned to face her. Hexenbiests were not known for questioning those they gave their loyalty to; they might be curious or confused, but outright questions were considered to be something of a faux pas. Adalind had always adhered to those social rules in the past; she was truly disturbed if she was questioning him, even in the privacy of his own living room. She had always, on reflection, been disturbed by Burkhardt.

"A few reasons," he said. "Some are personal. The ones that are political are very simple--Burkhardt has no previous training as a Grimm. He was ignorant of it until Kessler arrived and gave him a very brief crash course. He associates with a weider blutbad, because the blutbad has sworn off causing harm to humans for fun or sport or culture. Burkhardt only kills when he thinks it's necessary, and if a creature does not harm humans, he has no interest in it." He tugged his tie off. "He's already building a reputation for co-operation with and tolerance of the creatures I govern. I see no reason to discourage that. Kessler killed indiscriminately, and Miyamoto was called the bloody scourge of the east. Neither of them would have listened to reason, but Burkhardt has a good chance of becoming what the Grimms once were--and I feel we will need that in the coming days."

Adalind glanced up, uncertain. "I don't trust him," she said. "He's a Grimm, and they're all killers."

"They are stewards who lost sight of their purpose," Sean said, and she dropped her eyes. "Not unlike a few of my own relatives in the past. Those with responsibility will always find it heavy on their shoulders, Adalind, and it's always tempting to do what is easy rather than what is needed or right."

"Of course, my lord," she said, and took her leave.

~~~

The first time Nicolai kissed him, they were winding their way through the dark grey corridors of an abandoned hospital, looking for a reinigen that wasn't sticking to the straight and narrow. Nicolai had squeezed past him, waving his torch around the room to check for their suspect, and then he'd whirled around and kissed Sean hard and brief on the mouth.

Sean could have punched him. "What did you do that for?" he hissed. There was no point in trying to act the offended heterosexual man; Nicolai had apparently never bought it. Annoyed and angry, however, he could do those.

Nicolai gave him a dim, quick smile in the dark. "For luck," he said, and darted away into the shadows, his torch bobbing ahead of him like a beacon, and a snatch of humming melody--"Love Me Do." Sean wondered who he had offended to get stuck with such an obstinate, degenerate Grimm. Perhaps his Great-Aunt Martina, who still hadn't forgiven him for not courting the girl she had picked out for him. The old woman was not above a curse or two.

He jogged after Nicolai in the dark, and tried not to think about the way Nicolai had tasted.

~~~

Sean sent the Reaper packing, and things fell into a sort of easy pattern after that. Burkhardt--he had to forcibly think of the detective by his surname, it made things easier--was doing a fine job as a Grimm with a conscience. Sean was half-afraid he'd have to step in in the case of Holly Clark, but Burkhardt was willing to let two guilty victims go without justice, given the circumstances, and Sean found himself agreeing. He had one of his agents slip a few newsletters and books to the girl, both about what she was and how exactly she could continue to live as a protected creature in his lands. 

And so, things went on. Griffen dated Adalind, which Sean found alternately gratifying and horrifying; Burkhardt continued consulting the blutbad, and since he never came in with bite marks, scars, or bloody wounds, Sean allowed it. He monitored his spy network and connected with his city, his lands, the forests and mountains that made up his kingdom, and life went on, as it tends to do.

Then Burkhardt came to the station with bags under his eyes, looking as though he'd had tea with Death and come out the worse for it. Griffen had remarked, quietly, that Burkhardt and his pretty, sweet fiancé were breaking up, and it didn't look like they'd get back together.

Sean had to squash the tiny seed of hope that the news brought him, ruthlessly and firmly and almost certainly in vain.

~~~

"Won't you please, please help me," a young man sang, off-key and with a distinctly Eastern European accent, but Sean would recognize that voice anywhere, even off-key and singing a popular song.

He followed the voice through the tunnel, keeping one ear out for rats, trains, or any creature that might be lurking. Nicolai had no concern, the way he sang.

"...When I was younger, so much younger than toda~y, I never needed anybody's help in any way!"

Water was dripping from somewhere to Sean's right, and he concentrated on finding Nicolai and keeping his own steps silent. The tunnel was dark, but not completely without light--Nicolai, just ahead, had a torch, and he was heading for the entrance, which was grey with early morning light. Sean followed silently, until he could see Nicolai's shape outlined against the tunnel mouth.

"...And I do appreciate you being 'round. Help me get my feet back on the grou~nd--"

Sean surged forward and caught Nicolai in his arms, up against the gritty tunnel wall. Nicolai yelped, but once he caught sight of Sean he grinned.

"Won't you please, please help me," he said, and yelped again when Sean pushed him up the wall.

"You want this?" he asked, and Nicolai nodded, frantic. His torch had fallen to the ground and it shone fruitlessly back into the tunnel, the way both of them had come. Sean hitched one arm just beneath Nicolai's ass and hoisted him up against the wall. Nicolai grabbed his shoulders and hung on, his grin firmly in place.

"You have to want this," Sean said. It was the only warning he could give, but Nicolai breathed out "Please, please," in perfect tune, and Sean almost stopped listening. Nicolai was wearing a stretchy jumper beneath his coat, and Sean dived for the neck of it, locking onto the hollow of his throat and biting hard enough to bruise. Nicolai made a muffled noise and he wound his legs around Sean’s waist. He moaned softly, and Sean felt the vibrations through his lips and teeth and the bruised flesh of Nicolai's windpipe.

Nicolai wound one hand into Sean's hair, and the other clenched Sean's shoulder. He was light and easy to hold up and when Sean reached for his mouth Nicolai was already there, waiting and wanting and impatient.

"'Bout time, you silly wanker," he said, in between kisses, and Sean ignored his complaints; all that mattered was the warm mouth beneath his and the warm body pressed against the wall, pressed up against him, and Nicolai's legs tight around his waist. Together they were an island of warmth in a sea of cold, damp air.

~&~

Burkhardt and his fiancé separated in winter, at the tail end when spring teased everyone with the promise of more rain and warmer days, and the sun flirted with the idea of appearing from behind the clouds for longer than a moment. At the height of summer, after several dates--men and women, which did not make Sean assured at all--Burkhardt appeared at his door, in a light overshirt and jeans, and requested a transfer.

Sean sat back in his chair, and kept his face a mask of indifference. "May I ask why?" he said quietly. Burkhardt closed the door behind him.

"Yes," he said. "I feel it would be unprofessional if I stayed under your command, sir."

"Pardon? Why would remaining under my command be unprofessional?" 

Burkhardt fisted his hands into his jacket, and Sean's heart twisted. He knew Burkhardt had, in some metaphysical way, once been Nicolai No-Name; but now Nicolai was gone, grown into this person that Sean barely recognized sometimes. Burkhardt was not the teasing, occasionally flighty Grimm that Nicolai had been; he was older, and he had lost more, to Sean's way of thinking. But he recognized the subdued look of anger on his face.

"It would be unprofessional to remain in a department where a superior has--feelings--for an underling," Burkhardt ground out. "And it would be unprofessional to remain when said superior will do things outside the law to cover for or avenge said underling because of those feelings."

Sean closed his eyes. The Durbinhower case. Burkhardt was observant, damn him, and Sean had forgotten that fact in the wave of distraction that had occurred when Burkhardt had come into his inheritance. He would have picked up on Sean's actions and feelings, even as well-hidden and tamped down as they were, because he could read people like books when he wasn't caught in a storm of confusion and fear and paradigm shifting.

And, as always, someone could have talked; just because a creature resided in Sean's territory did not make it loyal to him.

"Please, have a seat," he said, and Burkhardt did so. He was watching Sean intently; as though he expected to see a snout grow, whiskers spring from his face, fangs appear, or perhaps some sort of change in his eyes. Sean had entirely too much control to allow any such hint, but it confirmed his guess that someone or something had told Burkhardt things they should not have.

"Explain," he said, at last. Burkhardt's entire face darkened, and his voice was harsh.

"I think you should be the one explaining things, _sir_ ," he said. "With all due respect."

Sean sighed inwardly. Burkhardt--like Nicolai--could be a stubborn bastard when he wanted to be. "I won't know what you want to know unless I know what it is you think I've done," he said. "I can already tell you think my motives are purely personal. I'll give you a hint: they're not. Inasmuch as I can, I try to keep my personal feelings out of that kind of work."

"The Grimm work," Burkhardt guessed. Sean almost smiled; did Burkhardt think he wouldn't recognize when he was being interrogated?

"The work I do with creatures, yes," Sean said. "I take it you think my actions had to do with how I feel and nothing else?"

"I wasn't sure," Burkhardt said, and at last he began to lose his angry edge. "A—a witness told me that you'd threatened Durbinhower over me. Apparently, you were rather intimidating."

"I did," Sean said. No point in denying it now; Burkhardt had to find out sometime. "But the reasons are political when I step in, not personal."

Burkhardt sighed, and his shoulders slumped. "You do feel something for me, though," he said, and Sean winced inwardly at the despondency in his voice.

"Something, yes," Sean said, slowly. "However, it will not infringe on our professional relationship, though I will understand if you still want the transfer to another department." Admitting that hurt, but what else was he to do? Burkhardt was not like Nicolai, wasn't Sean's the way Nicolai had been, wouldn't ever be Sean's, not with the things Burkhardt was apparently still ignorant of. And Sean could admit to himself that he wasn't a nice man, that if he could keep the fact that he had ordered the murder of Burkhardt's sick aunt buried for all time, he would, especially if it meant Burkhardt would be his again. 

Things like that had a habit of coming to light, though, and whatever Burkhardt felt for him now--respect, betrayal, uncertainty--it would fly away into ashes in the face of that fact.

"No," Burkhardt said, and Sean met his eyes. Burkhardt was still wary, and still, in some ways, wounded that Sean hadn't shared knowledge or feelings or something, but there was resolution shining in his eyes.

"If we can set aside any unprofessional feelings during work hours, I don't see why I should leave," he said, and Sean nodded, slowly. 

"I think that should work, Detective," he said, and Burkhardt sighed.

"I want to talk about the creatures," he said. Sean shrugged.

"There's not much to tell. I'm not a Grimm, if that's what you're wondering."

Burkhardt slumped in truth at that. "I'd sort of hoped," he said. "This whole thing is so...." He stopped, at a loss, and Sean looked away. He couldn't sooth this hurt, and he had lost the right to try.

"If that will be all, Detective, we should both get back to work," he said, as gently as he could, and Burkhardt nodded as he rose to leave.

"Yes, sir," he said, and Sean closed the door after him. The last thing he wanted right now was the buzz of the bullpen, the clacking of computer keys and the dull roar of talk.

~~~

Nicolai's flat was small and smelled very faintly of mildew, but that was not an aspersion on him--he was a tidy Grimm--but more on the location. It was a poor neighborhood, populated mostly with immigrants, with whom Nicolai blended with, with his scruffy clothing and shaggy hair and indistinct accent. He was multilingual and likely had been for most of his life; Sean could hear no difference in his voice when he spoke to the old housewife in German, to the little girl in Polish, snarked at a teenage boy in Czech, and snarled a brief hail of insults with another young man in rapid Russian. It was no wonder he could never pin down Nicolai's accent; the young man had probably moved all over Eastern Europe with his family, chasing creatures and learning new languages all the time. It must have been interesting going, given the Iron Curtain.

Now they were eating Indian take-away, from a small shop that had seemed to house no one who wasn't from the Indian sub-continent or some country near-by. Nicolai had delighted in introducing Sean to the searing, spicy food, but Sean would get his own back. There were thousands of creatures in the world, and he doubted Nicolai had ever tasted the sort of food that some creatures had developed.

"Nah, Sean," Nicolai said, as his little radio played a slightly screechy version of "Norwegian Wood." "Do you believe in reincarnation?"

Sean speared a piece of orange cauliflower with his fork. "I don't know," he said. "I've never seen evidence of it, if that's what you mean."

"Mmm," Nicolai mumbled through his lamb-chickpea-and-spinach curry. "No, I mean, do you believe it's possible." 

"All things are possible in our world, Nicolai," Sean said, and spared one arm from his dinner to drape over Nicolai's shoulders. The young man's flat had a weird collection of furniture--mostly pillows made of Indian prints, lots of rugs, a mattress in the corner covered with at least three layers of patchwork quilts and one knitted blanket. He had hung most of his weapons on the wall; Sean admired the artistry and functionality of the wall hangings.

"No, I mean--" Nicolai paused to sip from a bottle of pop, "I mean, if I were to die, do you think I'd come back in another body? Or would I have sinned too much, helping kill creatures that never hurt anyone?"

Sean's fingers tightened hard on Nicolai's shoulder. "I don't know what you mean," he said, and ate a piece of curried lamb.

Nicolai snorted. "Now you're being stupid," he said. "I did kill the harmless ones, you know, while I traveled with my family. If I hadn’t, I would have gotten it from Aunt Vanya at least. Uncle Sigmund would have blown--what is it the kids say--would have blown a gasket, had I refused. And I always felt bad, so I wonder if that would keep me from coming back to you."

"You're not leaving me," Sean said, and this time even Nicolai picked up on the dark, ugly thread in his voice. He reached up and stroked the side of Sean's face.

"Not voluntarily," he said, softly. "Never voluntarily. I want to stay with you. It's why you need to get your own throne, your own territory, then no one will tell you off if you have a male lover." He bared his throat a little. "I carry your mark on me all the time now, don't think that doesn't make trouble! But I like it."

"You're a fool," Sean said, but he relaxed his grip and began eating again. "You're not going to die."

Nicolai shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not," he said, though his voice wasn't as flippant as his words. "My job is very dangerous, you know this. And you have family functions, jobs that you must do for your brother. You cannot be with me all the time."

Sean stabbed an inoffensive spear of broccoli, and didn't say anything in return. Nicolai shifted against him and tucked into his curry, and for a moment there was only the sound of the radio, which had finished "Norwegian Wood" and had begun playing something by an American band. Nicolai hummed to the tune in-between bites.

"Reinhart is what brought this on," Sean said at last. Nicolai shrugged. The old man had been in the service of Sean's brother for the last ten years; it was inevitable that he would fall in the line of duty, as it were, and he was old and growing sick. Nicolai had only ever tried to like him as professional courtesy, but some things transcended the petty things like mutual antipathy.

"It's just, it's dangerous, hunting things like blutbaden and ziegevolk and the like. I've only been free of reapers because of you." 

Sean knew. He focused on his food to avoid Nicolai's bright, knowing eyes.

~&~

Things were quiet for a long while, as the summer stretched and faded into autumn, with the turning of leaves and the rain showers that constantly visited Portland. Sean threw himself into both of his jobs, the day and the night and the overlap between the two, and tried to forget the way Burkhardt's eyes reminded him of Nicolai. It wasn't easy; true to his word, Burkhardt hadn't asked for a transfer, though more and more Sean thought that might be the best idea. Gradually, slowly, he was noticing a change, both in Burkhardt and in the creature community he ruled over.

Burkhardt looked at him more--not that he hadn't ever looked at his captain, but now Sean would glance up and find Burkhardt studying him with a pensive face and a tight cast to his mouth. He ignored it as best he could; he had been honest when he said he would keep his personal feelings out of it. Burkhardt, outside of those looks, did his best to do the same. They were perfectly professional around each other, which caught the attention of both Griffen and Wu, not to mention a few other officers; but nothing ever came of it in the rumor mill, and Sean let it lie.

In the creature community, there was a lessening of animosity when it came to Portland's resident Grimm--not a complete cessation of hostility, but there were rumors circulating, that the newest Grimm on the block was not interested in the pelts of everything from blutbad to bauerschwein, only in those who ignored the rules that their lord had laid out. A law-abiding Grimm was a new thing to these creatures, and Sean was satisfied that at least something good was coming out of the whole mess.

It all fell to pieces the October day Voorhann arrived in Portland.

~~~

"Hah, you there," Nicolai said, and slammed into Sean with all the subtlety of a subway train. "You hear of any new Grimms in London town?"

Sean pulled back and looked into Nicolai's eyes. "No," he said. "Grimms--barring one exception--are not allowed in London, by my brother's order. Why would you ask such a thing?"

"Eh, no reason," Nicolai said, and pushed his way into Sean's flat. "Do you mind if I stay over?"

Sean watched him shrug off his jacket, watched the muscles play under the thin material of the black jumper. "No," he said, his voice low. "No, I don't mind." He stepped closer and pushed his hands up beneath the jumper, to Nicolai's chilled skin. "I ought to buy you some decent clothes."

Nicolai laughed. "No. Last thing I need is to be kept man. I would get lazy."

Sean pulled him close. "I'm a taskmaster," he said against Nicolai's ear. "You would be too busy to be lazy."

"Mmm, tempting." Nicolai leaned against him. "But I like buying my own clothes, _meile_."

Sean bit his earlobe. It was an old argument. "So, you want to stay the night?"

Nicolai turned and leaned against him. "If I won't crowd your bed too much."

"Not at all," Sean said, and it was a long time before either of them spoke again.

The strains of "Eleanor Rigby" woke Sean out of a light sleep. Nicolai was by the record player, mouthing the words as Paul McCartney sang, swaying back and forth on bare feet. He had pulled on his jumper and a pair of loose pants that were too long for him. Sean half sat up and Nicolai whirled, the practiced move of a predator--but he relaxed once he realized who it was. He walked back to the bed and crawled back under the covers as the rest of the album began to play. Sean leaned back on his elbows, even as Nicolai braced himself over Sean's chest.

"Sean," he said lowly. "Remember when I asked about reincarnation?"

As if he could forget. "Yes," he said. 

"I was just thinking. If something happens to me, don't be lonely like Eleanor."

"You're not going to die," Sean said. He ran his fingers through Nicolai's dark hair and tugged. "I won't allow it."

"You can't stop death," Nicolai said. "It's one of those things, Renard--even royalty can't tell death not to take them, no matter how long they live."

"I'd try," Sean said. His fingers were tight in Nicolai's hair, but the Grimm said nothing about it. "I won't allow you to die. You're _mine._ "

Nicolai looked at him with old eyes. "I know," he said, and Sean released his hair so he could pull the Grimm closer, safe for a little while from the world.

~~~

It was a weider blutbad that brought the disturbances to Sean's attention. The blutbad had been found strung across a pair of trees in the forest, gutted and disemboweled, his head attached to his body by a few threads of flesh. His eyes had been missing, gouged out, and only Sean's sense of smell told him the body had once been a blutbad.

"Michael Forester," Burkhardt said, as he flipped open the wallet with a pen. The victim's clothes had been shredded, but his wallet and keys were lying next to the scene, disregarded and forgotten. "Says here he drives a truck, but I haven't seen one."

"I'll call the station, get a phone number and any next of kin," Griffen said, and turned away to do just that. Sean savored a brief flash of amusement; Griffen was a talented detective, but he was exceedingly squeamish.

He picked his way carefully over to Burkhardt, and crouched down next to him. The only benefit to this miserable scene was that the smell of the body was overwhelming every other scent, including Burkhardt's. "The victim was a blutbad," he said in a low voice, nearly whispering, and Burkhardt shot him a startled look. 

"How can you tell?" he asked. Sean scratched his nose.

"I just can," he said. "Ask your friend about him--they might know of each other."

"You know Monroe?" Burkhardt asked. Sean gave him a cool look.

"Very little goes on in Portland that I don't know about, Detective," he said, and left Burkhardt to his work. He picked his way away from the scene and made all the necessary phone calls he was required to by human law and convention, and as soon as he was out of the Grimm's earshot he opened his cellphone and called Adalind.

"Yes, my lord?" she asked, completely unsurprised. "What do you need?"

"Anything you can get me on a blutbad named Michael Forester," he said. "He's been murdered, and it doesn't look like any of the rituals I know. I want to know who is new to Portland in the last few weeks. This was not a normal killing."

"Yes, my lord," Adalind said. "I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

"Good," he said, and snapped his phone closed.

One of his people had been killed on his watch, and it wasn't authorized. Burkhardt would never have prolonged a creature's suffering this way--if Forester was guilty of anything, it would have been a bullet, or proof of guilt that would lead to a prison sentence. Something clean--not this torture, this warning display. It made him think of some of the Grimms he had known before Nicolai, before Burkhardt--some, like Kessler, were indiscriminate killers, but they were clean kills. Some Grimms, however, preferred a more visceral technique, a warning to all other creatures in the area.

Sean focused his thoughts on the job at hand, and did his best to set aside the cold fear that swept through him and left sweat beading his face.

~&~

"Here, There, and Everywhere" was playing through Sean's brain. He rather wished it would stop; it made him anxious in a way he couldn't quite fathom. It was being away from London, from a city where he felt rooted and needed, but Richard had asked him to visit the Duchess who held Paris, and Sean could hardly refuse.

Thankfully, the Duchess did not believe in midnight meetings. They would meet in the morning, in the bright light of day--Annette did not believe in hiding in the dark, and since Grimms were considered particularly unwelcome in her territory, she felt she had little to fear. Sean privately thought that a foolish illusion, but he was here to be diplomatic, not honest.

He leaned against the balcony railing, and gazed down at the city, lit up as always with a great many streetlamps and porchlights. The air smelled of fall, and oncoming winter; but the cold was not here yet, and he could enjoy the evening without a coat. So, he leaned on a railing and sipped fine red wine, and missed Nicolai's warmth and smart observations.

He didn't like being separated from Nicolai. They weren't anything so cliched as mates or the like--monarchy lines such as the Renards were not the slaves to instinct that some creatures were--but Sean was a possessive bastard and honest enough to know it. He wanted his lover beside him, where he could keep the fool safe and relatively protected.

He had tried to plead his case to Richard, but his brother had shaken his head.

"Sean," he had said, "the Duchess Annette hates Grimms. In her experience, there is no such thing as a Grimm with higher reasoning functions. If you took Nicolai with you, you would not only leave our people without an enforcer, you would give Annette the best excuse she's had in years to throw a party themed like the Revolution, complete with guillotine."

As in many things, Richard had the right of it. That didn't make Sean like it any better.

Restlessly he moved back into his hotel room and turned on the small radio. The melody caught him by surprise.

"Knowing that love is to share, each one thinking that love never dies--"

Sean switched the radio off and downed his wine in a bad temper.

~&~

London had changed not at all in the month and a half that Sean had been gone. Certain pop bands were more popular than when he left, the rains had come sweeping in, but other than that, little had changed. It soothed something in him to feel the rightness as he stepped off the boat and onto the soil his brother called home.

One day, somewhere in the world, he would find a kingdom in need of a king, and then the connection would not be the faint echo he could feel here in London. The creatures he commanded power over would look to him for protection, for reassurance, for discipline and security, and he would give it to them with all he had.

And he would save what he could of himself for Nicolai.

~~~

He stepped inside his flat with a sigh of relief. It was unchanged from his absence--a little more dust, perhaps--but it was the closest he could come to _home_ at the moment, and he savored it. He would have to run down to a pub for take-away, since he hadn't left any food in the place, but that was a small concern compared to the joy of being back. All he needed was food and Nicolai--not necessarily in that order--and he would be content.

The pub did a decent meal on short notice, and Sean climbed the stairs to his flat with a bag full of Shepard’s pie and some local ale, kept warm. He paused as he rounded the corridor to his flat.

"Mr. Carpenter," he said, with a smile he didn't truly feel. "Did you need something?"

The old gentleman held up a wide, flat envelope. "A young man wanted me to give this to you when you got back," he said. "A scruffy hooligan with an accent--foreign."

"Ah," Sean said. "Well, thank you, Mr. Carpenter. I appreciate it."

"Hmph," the old man said. "I don't know, Mr. Renard, associating with such a person...."

"He's an old friend, Mr. Carpenter," Sean said, as patiently as he could manage. He took the envelope from the man with a quick gesture, not quite a snap, and turned to open his door. "As I said, thank you for keeping it and delivering it to me, I truly appreciate it. Good evening."

"Mph. Good Evening, Mr. Renard," Carpenter said, and shuffled back to his flat.

Nosy old codger, Sean thought, but he soon pushed Carpenter out of his mind in favor of Nicolai's message. There was something hard and flat in the envelope; he set down his dinner and tore it open. A small singles record fell out, which Sean managed to catch, and a fluttering piece of paper, which landed with its folds akimbo on the carpet. The record had had both songs blacked out with marker, but a small paper note taped to it read "Play Side B" in Nicolai's distinctive handwriting.

Amused, Sean found side B and placed it on his record player. In a few moments a poppy guitar sound trundled out, and a familiar band began to sing.

"As I write this letter, send my love to you, remember that I'll always, be in love with you...."

"Nicolai, you're a sap," Sean said, even as he scooped up the folded paper on the floor. This was a proper letter, in Nicolai's near-illegible scrawl.

"Renard, can't write you a long letter, but I think the single will speak for me. I got word of some jagerbars up north of London, out in the country. It could just be a real bear or someone badmouthing their neighbors, but I need to investigate it. I'll be taking my Volkswagen, it's in good shape, and I'll be back soon. Hopefully we'll laugh over this together. I should be back by the 17th, but it might go long, so don't worry. Nicolai."

Sean absently turned off the record player. Nicolai was gone, hadn't arrived back when he should have--it sent a cold prickle of fear down Sean's spine. He clutched the letter in one hand and strode over to the phone. He had a network of spies in place, to assist his brother and to keep an eye on a certain foolish Grimm, and now it would come in handy.

A young woman answered the ringing on the line. "Hello, how may I direct your call?"

"I need Abigail Birdswaith, in Buckinghamshire," he said, and rattled off any further information the operator needed. The phone rang again, a few more times, before he reached the woman he needed.

"Mrs. Birdswaith? This is Sean Renard, in London. I need to know the location of a Grimm--he's not dangerous unless you curse people, Mrs. Birdswaith. He was investigating the rumors of some jagerbars north of London, and now he's late back."

"I can probably do a location spell, but I need to know a great deal about him," she said, matter-of-factly, and Sean silently blessed the practicality of hedge witches. 

~&~

The location spell pulled Sean to a small town just outside northern London, where Nicolai had apparently laid up for an extra few nights. Birdswaith had located the Grimm at a small youth hostel, where he had been since the sixteenth at the earliest. Nicolai did not have much money, living as he did on the stipend from Richard and the occasional odd job. 

As he pulled up to the address Birdswaith had given him, Sean saw Nicolai's battered dark blue Volkswagen in the parking lot, and it gave him another shiver of unease. 

The man who ran the hostel gives Sean a distinctly uninterested look when asked about Nicolai. "He's in room seven," the man said, stinking of cheap, bad ale and tobacco. "Hasn't paid the last couple nights, was about to chuck him out."

"I'll pay the difference in his bill," Sean says, and the total really wasn't that much. The hostel rooms weren't that much, to be fair; but they were for adventuring tourists and college students, not poor Grimms returning from a hunt.

The corridor smelled of hashish and other, less legal things, but Sean didn't smell blood. Room seven was firmly locked, and when he knocked there's no answer, though he could hear a heartbeat inside. Sean studied the lock and braced himself against the door and doorjamb, then jerked the doorknob hard enough to break the lock. The manager didn't even look up from his BBC News broadcast, and Sean swung the door open with no resistance.

Nicolai was dead to the world, asleep on the small hostel bed. He was still, but alive--Sean could hear the steady heartbeat if he tried, and Nicolai's breaths came even and slow. Sean closed the door as best he could--he really had wrecked the lock, but he couldn't regret that--and dropped down beside the bed.

"Nicolai," he said. The Grimm didn't move at first, but when Sean shook him, he raised his head and moaned.

"'Sat you?" he mumbled, and followed that with a small, mumbled flood of Romanian. Sean hadn't even realized Nicolai knew Romanian.

"Nicolai," he said, quietly, and gently stroked the man's dark hair away from his face. "Nicolai, can you tell me what happened?"

It came in a mix of languages, but Sean wasn't a member of his line for nothing--he understood most of it. The jagerbar had been real, but it had only been causing trouble because of a new Grimm that had been hunting it. Nicolai had warned the other Grimm off, and the jagerbar had disappeared, but not before knocking Nicolai into something. Sean ran his fingers through Nicolai's hair and found a tender bump, but no blood.

"You're an idiot," Sean said, torn between relief and astonishment. "Nicolai, if you're hurt, go to a hospital, get a doctor! You could have died in here, you stupid--"

"Shh, shh," Nicolai said. His eyes were still dilated, but he lifted one hand and patted Sean's face. " _Ez nem baj, en kiraly,_ " he said, and tried to fall back asleep.

"Nicolai," Sean barked, and the Grimm came awake. " _Do not fall asleep_ ," Sean ordered, and Nicolai nodded, slowly. Sean checked him for any other injuries, and when he found none, he pulled the young man up and to his feet.

"We will go to a hospital and get your head checked out," he said, sternly. "Once I know you'll be fine, and once you've recovered, you can yell at me all you like."

"Okay," Nicolai said, in a dazed way, and Sean led him out of the hostel to his car.

~~~

“I cannot _believe_ you did that,” Nicolai hissed three days later at Sean's door, a plastic tag still tied around his wrist from the local hospital. “I cannot believe you, you—you--”

“Next time I'll try to forget that you could have died,” Sean said coolly. "Do come in," he added as Nicolai stormed past him into the flat. "Please, it's no trouble."

"You is the one in trouble!" Nicolai snapped. "You are lizenzgebuhren, you are preklad, you are _familiei regale_! I knew this and I trusted you and still you use the voice on me?"

Sean bit the inside of his cheek. He knew Nicolai would be upset; he did not realize Nicolai would be so furious, given the circumstances. "You were hurt. You had been lying there hurt for two days."

"And I am fine! I _was_ fine! You could have called the ambulance, I would still have been fine!"

"I didn't know that," Sean said. He was holding onto his control rather well, but Nicolai barely seemed to notice. "I told you there would be consequences, Nicolai. I told you to be sure."

Nicolai seemed to lose all his anger in a breath. "I have never heard of preklad using the voice on lovers," he said, bitterly. Sean let loose a sigh of his own.

"I've only used it this once," he said. "There have been regale in the past whose consorts were nothing but puppets under the voice. I would never do that to you. But you know how I am and you know how I feel about you being in danger and putting yourself in danger unnecessarily."

"I know. You get stupid." Nicolai's anger was back full force. "You get dumb, think you have to use the voice on me. Don't you dare do that again! I won't forgive you if you do that again! I won't be puppet for a regale, not for anything, not even for you!"

Sean closed his eyes and nodded. "I swear," he said. "I won't do that to you again, Nicolai."

Nicolai lost a little of his angry, tense posture. "Ever again," he said, and there was no room in his voice for compromise.

"Ever again," Sean agreed, and only then did Nicolai move close enough to touch.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought I would sleep it off, be home before you got back."

Sean pulled him close and breathed in the smell of his hair. "Don't do that to me again," he whispered. "Just...just don't. If I need to, I'll find a hexenbiest or a rienigen or something that will follow you to watch your back if I can't be there, but don't scare me like that again."

"Mah, I can take care of myself," Nicolai said, but he slung his arms around Sean's waist and tipped his head to the side. "Hey, you, your mark has faded. You ought to fix that, yes?"

"In a minute," Sean murmured, and Nicolai let him have a moment of peace, standing quiet in a silent flat.

~&~

For a long while, things balanced. Sean walked the usual tightrope of Captain Sean Renard, ordinary human police officer, and the Rege Renard, who was cold and calculating and had to maintain control with tight iron fingers. And for a while after Burkhardt realized he was not the only human involved with creatures, things balanced.

In October, things went to hell.

Adalind was not the catalyst, to Sean's surprise, though he almost wished he could have sent her to another city--San Francisco on the edge of his lands, or Seattle, or Vancouver--somewhere away from Burkhardt, who did not become a detective because he was pretty. She certainly didn't help the situation, but in hindsight, she'd done all she could, and Sean would not punish her for things out of her control.

"So, boss," Griffen said one morning, leaning on the doorjamb, "when was the last time you went to a party?"

"Beg pardon?" Sean asked, and met Griffen's eyes with a sharp, irritated glare.

"Sir, if you don't mind me saying so, you've been wound tighter than usual. A few friends and I are having a Halloween party this weekend, we wondered if you'd like to come. Relax for a night."

Sean raised an eyebrow the tiniest bit. "'Wound tighter?'"

Griffen shrugged in a self-conscious sort of way. "If I may be frank, sir, you're more tense than you usually are. And if you think that description is bad, you should hear the way Wu put it."

Sean can imagine that for himself. "No, I think I can live without that," he said. "I'll think about the party, Detective. In the meantime, don't you have cases?"

Griffen gave him a salute that was only a touch mocking. "On it," he said, and disappeared into the pen. Sean devoted himself to his paperwork and ignored most of the outside world for as long as he could.

Sgt. Wu interrupted approximately an hour later, his eyes bright and foxlike. Sean had always simultaneously liked him and been extraordinarily wary of him for exactly that quality.

"Are you going to Griffen's party, sir?" Wu asked. Sean sighed and set down his pen.

"I'm not going to get anything like peace until I agree," he said. "Is that about the size of it?"

Wu grinned widely. "That's about it, sir!"

Sean sighed. "Fine. I'll make an appearance and have a drink. Now go away, I have work to do--and so do you."

"Yes, sir," Wu said, entirely too cheerful.

~~~

The party was more or less what Sean thought it would be--loud, annoying, full of adults in ridiculous costumes, with "spooky" music that was somehow also appropriate for dancing. He had, briefly, thought of wearing a costume, but his dignity rose up and strangled the thought before it had fully formed. Mingling with co-workers wasn't a terribly good idea off the clock as it was; no need to make it worse by dressing like something foolish. Higgins from Traffic was dressed rather badly as Cupid, and McCann from Vice was wearing something that looked vaguely like something the Beatles wore at one point.

Altogether, the party wasn't a total loss--if nothing else, Sean was having a hard time not laughing, chuckling, or smirking horribly at most of his co-workers and underlings. It was both amusing and a good exercise in control, and Sean liked to multitask.

"Hey, Captain!" Griffen said, as he approached Sean's chosen corner with a drink in one hand. He was dressed in a suit and wore a geeky pair of glasses. "Where's your costume?"

"I came dressed as a police captain," Sean said mildly. "Who are you supposed to be?"

Griffen pointed to a fake press badge pinned to his pocket. The name 'Kent' was written in black marker. "Clark Kent," he said. "Everybody expects Superman at these things, man. I'm more subtle than that."

"Indeed," Sean said. He sipped his punch--thankfully spiked, though he had no idea by whom. "I don't suppose I can escape to the backyard for a moment?"

Griffen pointed the way. "Right through there. Watch out for Wu, he got a little too much to drink."

Sean wondered exactly how much that would have had to be, then disregarded the thought and headed for the back door. His spine was starting to itch from all the people, many of whom were not in his department, nor even acquaintances. A few minutes outside, outside of the press of people he did not know nor care to know, and he could recollect himself and perhaps spend a few more minutes before making his excuses and his escape.

The backyard was surprisingly empty. It wasn't too cold yet, though it was damp, as always when one lived by the ocean; there was no table or place to gather, and Sean supposed that was why it was blessedly free of party-attendees. He leaned against a tree and closed his eyes, breathed deep of the Portland air.

The back door slammed sometime later--Sean had lost track of the minutes. Burkhardt had wandered outside, dressed in his usual apparel of jeans, t-shirt, jacket. Sean didn't bother holding still or hiding; he was well within reach of the porchlight.

"Hello, Detective. I didn't see you here."

Burkhardt shrugged. "Hank badgered me into coming," he said. "I came to get him to shut up. I didn't think you'd be here, sir."

"Sgt. Wu is persuasive. I think he's also the one who spiked the punch."

"Oh," Burkhardt said. He held a cup full of rum-spiked punch in one hand; it was mostly gone. "I've had about three cups. Guess I should call a cab home."

"It might be wise," Sean said. He remained next to the tree, and he was a little surprised when Burkhardt shuffled a few steps closer.

"So, what's your costume?"

"Police captain. What's yours?"

Burkhardt's smile was a quick flash of light. "Hipster," he said. "You know, trendy, snobby, looking down their nose at people. You can't tell the difference between a hipster and a normal person."

Sean felt a smile tug at his mouth. "I can see that," he said. "Have you gotten a lot of flak for it?"

Burkhardt shrugged. "Wu's been on me about it," he said. "Hank says it isn't festive. Harper thought it was funny."

The ME would have that sense of humor. "So, it's not a complete failure, then."

"You liked it, too. More a middling success," the detective replied. He swirled the punch in its paper cup. "Maybe this is the rum," he said, "but there's something I kind of wanted to say to you."

Sean stood up a little straighter. "What is it?" There were a dozen things that could go wrong--he tended the threads like a spider, but he couldn't be everywhere and if one or three or ten had snapped, he had to know what to do to control the fallout.

Burkhardt set his cup down, leaned close, and kissed Sean very softly on the mouth. 

There were so many, many reasons to stop this, but Sean found it hard to remember most of them. Burkhardt's mouth was soft and he tasted like rum and Hawaiian Punch, sweet and sharp. Sean had one hand in his hair before he caught himself, coaxing and demanding and Burkhardt followed his lead, as though the Grimm hadn't started this himself.

Burkhardt was under his official command. Sean had ordered the murder of Burkhardt's aunt. And he looked too much like Nicolai. None of that stopped him from kissing back, from pulling Burkhardt closer and allowing the detective to slide his hands around Sean's waist.

He had missed this--not sex, he could find any number of willing, temporary partners. He had missed kissing someone who knew anything about him, who had any inkling of who and what he really was, someone who wanted him for himself. There had been a few since Nicolai, but none with the same sort of potential, until Nick Burkhardt.

Nick Burkhardt, who liked it when Sean bit his lips and tugged on his hair.

Nick Burkhardt, whose aunt lay dead on Sean's order.

He pulled away. Nick blinked up at him, his breath a little fast.

"I probably shouldn't have done that," Nick said. Sean licked his lips and tried to think of something to say.

"We can blame it on the rum," he said, slowly. "If you'd like."

Nick's eyes were large and dark, his back to the light and no moon in the sky. "Maybe," he said.

~&~

The thing about kissing someone is that on a certain level, it lets them in. Sean was in a bad temper even two days after the party, angry at himself and at Nick--because he couldn't just be Burkhardt any longer, not when Sean knew the way he liked to be kissed. Monday morning was not something he was happy to see; but he had no reason to call in, and that right probably belonged to Nick.

None of the party participants looked at him any differently. Griffen apparently decided not to push his luck, and while Sgt. Wu gave him an inquiring look, Sean countered it with one of his most forbidding, and Wu wisely said nothing. Things went as normal until mid-morning, when Nick slunk into his office and shut the door.

"Detective," Sean said quietly. "Do you need something?"

Nick had his hands shoved in his pockets again. "Maybe," he said. "I thought we ought to speak about the, uh, other night."

Sean debated for only half a moment. "I thought it was the rum talking," he said. Part of him prayed Nick would take the out, take the hint, and bow out with grace.

Nick was a stubborn bastard.

"It wasn't just the rum," he said. His face was a dull red, and his mouth was pinched tight. He didn't really meet Sean's eyes. "This is sort of horrifyingly embarrassing, but I really did mean it. Sir."

Fuck.

"I see," Sean said, a rare occurrence of stalling. "Internal Affairs isn't usually so literal."

Nick shifted back and forth, unhappy. "I know this is a big thing to drop on you, especially after this summer," he said. "But I've been thinking about it for a long, long time, and I guess I sort of...." He shrugged. "It seemed the thing to do." 

Sean concentrated on his papers for a moment. "I'm flattered," he said, "and very tempted. But there's a great deal of things that you don't know, and I can't in good conscience pursue this."

Nick rocked a little on his heels. "If there's things I don't know, why don't you tell me?"

"Aren't you supposed to be working on the Summers' case?"

"I'm taking a coffee break." Nick dropped into the chair in front of Sean's desk and met his eyes. "So. Things I don't know. I'm listening."

Turned out Nick Burkhardt was just as much of a little shit as Nicolai ever was. "Detective," he said, "you shouldn't be under my command if you want to start a relationship. Think about a transfer to another department or another precinct, and then we'll talk."

"I don't see why we can't talk now--" Nick began, leaning forward as if he were going to haul the answers he wanted out of his captain. The door swung violently open, though, and cut off whatever it was he would have said.

Sean groaned inwardly. Marina Dichtung, a member of the fractious Meerjung community. Her hair was swept into a braid and her dress was deep blue, and her sealskin hung from her shoulders as a sleek, deep brown coat. Her face was pinched and stormy. Adalind followed right behind her, and the hexenbiest's eyes were apologetic. Sean could well understand--the Meerjung, when in a temper, were as difficult as their favored element, and just as hard to hold back.

"I protest," Marina said. "Sire, I protest at you allowing that thing to live." She sidled a glance to Nick, and for a moment her face became something other--deep, liquid brown eyes and a whiskered snout. Worse, Nick saw her looking, and slowly got to his feet, prudently putting the chair between them. "I protest that you have not eliminated it."

Adalind had had the good sense to close the door, and Sean had seen the racing tracery of light that would keep this conversation private--a concern which Marina, at least, did not seem to share. "Ms. Dichtung," he said, slowly, "I would ask that you keep to my usual hours for this sort of thing."

She dropped her eyes for a moment--only a moment, because she was the spokesperson of her kind, and a vassal. "Sire," she said, "Anders found Malaiya. She was gutted by a Grimm." Now she looked at Nick full force. "I do not understand why you allow this one to live when you have protected us so well from the others who would hunt us."

"You know my arguments on this topic, Ms. Dichtung," Sean said. He stood, slowly. Part of him was sitting back, watching everything he had worked toward fall apart; the rest of him was present and ready to deal with Marina in a temper. Distantly he noticed Nick attempt to speak, and Adalind shushing him with a look and a few low words.

"I have always disagreed," she said, strident. "My lord, you have protected us so well until you allowed that thing to live."

"He is a thinking being, Ms. Dichtung, and under my command. I would appreciate a little respect."

"He killed Malaiya! He gutted her and left her for the sharks, and took her skin as a trophy! Sire, he's not worth your mercy, and he's proof that Grimms are not worth the breath their mothers give them." She crossed her arms, and her fingers dug into the skin of her coat. "My lord," she said, more calmly, "you know we are not the only vassals under your banner who disagree with letting a Grimm live. Please, I love you as my king. Things would be much more stable if he were dead."

"What evidence do you have that it was Detective Burkhardt who killed Malaiya?" Sean asked. "Other than the fact that he is a Grimm, which is circumstantial at best. As to the others who disagree, I bring up Burkhardt's record--he's been a Grimm for the last year, and he has killed only eight creatures, all of them with my sanction under the law."

Marina shrunk into herself. "I have seen those killed by Grimms," she said. "This was no different, down to the missing sealskin and the disrespect for the remains. My king, please. If it was not this Grimm--" she grimaced, as though she disliked admitting such a possibility--"then there is another in your lands, and we ask that you protect us as you have done in the past."

"I shall, of course, do so," he said. Pulling the threads back into alignment was always a pain. "But please, Ms. Dichtung, I ask that you stop accusing Detective Burkhardt."

She glared fiercely at his desk. "What evidence do you have that he was not the one who killed our daughter?" she asked. "She went missing two nights ago, on the twenty-seventh, and Anders found her late last night."

Sean sighed. "I'm sure Detective Burkhardt would not kill someone who did not provoke it," he said, "and I have heard nothing about Malaiya that would indicate that I needed to sanction a kill." He paused, debated. "And I was with Detective Burkhardt for a portion of the evening on the twenty-seventh, between the hours of nine and ten. If you've called in the body to the local police, we can pin down the time of death and go from there."

Marina bit her lip. "I'm afraid her sisters were too upset to think of calling the authorities," she said. "Her funeral was this morning."

"Then there is a simple solution," Sean said, willing away the headache that dealing with clans always brought on. "Detective Burkhardt," he said, looking at Nick for the first time since Marina had sailed into his office. Nick was pale, and there was an angry tightness in his face. "I must ask you: _Did you kill Malaiya Haas?_ "

The Grimm's eyes glazed a little. "No. I haven't shot anyone since that mugger on the fourth of September, when he wouldn't drop his gun."

Sean ruthlessly tamped down any feelings other than brisk efficiency. "There, Ms. Dichtung," he said. "Would you say he was lying?"

Marina shook her head, even as she darted a glance at Nick, and another at him. "No, my king," she said, and her voice was subdued. "I will tell the other Meerjung what has happened here."

"Please, do," Sean said coolly, and nodded to the door. Adalind swept forward and took Marina's arm, to lead her out of the station with no more incidents. She had the sense to close the door behind them, and the tracery of light brightened again. Nick twitched, a little, watching it race over the walls.

Sean closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the threads and strands of his web slide into place. Marina was right in that there were a great many unhappy clans in his lands, who did not like the thought of a live Grimm.

"You killed my aunt."

Sean swallowed the wince. Nick's voice was flat and hollow, gouged out of him with something sharp and merciless. Sean met his eyes and looked back at the anger and hurt he saw there. 

"I ordered her killed, yes," he said. Nick looked away first, and his voice was cracked when he spoke again.

"Why? She was old, and dying--"

"And still a very lethal woman," Sean said. "I had no reason to believe she would treat with me, and if I had tried, my people would have rioted." Hell, they had nearly rioted when Sean made it known that Nick was not to be killed. Granting Marie Kessler a reprieve would have resulted in Portland needing a new king.

"She was dying already," Nick said, and Sean wanted to look away from the betrayal in his eyes. 

"She knew what she was getting into, entering a kingdom," Sean said, almost gently. "There's not a kingdom on the continent that would have allowed her to live, N--Detective. There are the ungoverned territories, and all she needed to fear there were reapers, but in a kingdom she would have had to face the same thing, no matter where she was."

Nick shook his head. "And you _kissed_ me," he said. "You ordered my aunt murdered, and you kissed me anyway."

Sean found he had to look away, at that. "You made a convincing argument," he said. "And I've wanted to do that for a long time." He paused, wondered if his words would make things better or worse. "I'm sorry for your grief," he said. "But I'm not sorry for protecting my people, nor am I sorry for kissing you. I just wish the circumstances were better."

"So you just--"Nick's voice choked off. "I have work to do," he said, and Sean watched him leave at something only a little slower than a run.


End file.
